On Holmbury Hill

The view from the top - across The Weald

Last Saturday was a truly gorgeous Autumn day - perfect weather for walking.

We drove to Peaslake through mile after mile of tunnels of green, twisting and turning along narrow lanes, pausing frequently to squish our car into the high bank on the side of the road to allow another vehicle or cyclists to pass. 

 


The aim was to do a 2-hour loop walk through woodland to a little village we'd only briefly passed through in the past - Holmbury St Mary - and then up to the summit of Holmbury Hill.

After about 45 minutes ambling through beautiful heathlands and woods, we emerged into the village with its Arts and Crafts houses, towering hedges and lovely parish church.

Oddly, one of the cottages in the village has this Aboriginal name,
complete with kangaroo emblem

This garden gate is almost hobbit-like

Naturally enough, in a village called Holmbury St Mary, the church is named for St Mary and is perched atop a hill with a fine prospect across the village. It has a very handsome timber spire.

Church of St Mary the Virgin, Holmbury St Mary

We timed our walk - as usual - to be able to stop at the local pub for lunch. The Kings Head is a charming little establishment that was made all the more attractive to me by the horse tethered out the front. 

Kevin considering the cask ales

Fed and watered, after lunch we continued our ascent of Holmbury Hill, past what must be one of England's most beautifully situated cricket grounds.

I do love a bit of topiary

A quintessentially English scene - a county cricket match

And eventually we reached the top of the hill. At 261 metres it's not exactly Everest but the walker is rewarded with beautiful views across The Weald.

Days like this serve to remind me how lucky we are to live in Surrey. I truly love this county and never tire of its woods, its rolling green hills and its panoramic views.

And now I have Autumn to look forward to, when much of the green will be transformed into jewel colours of ruby and amber. Stay tuned for more of Surrey's glories.

Until next time,
- Maree  xo

Frensham turns 90

Back in 2008 Kevin was granted leave from his Canberra school to take up what was supposed to be a six-month job at Frensham Heights School near Farnham, Surrey. Thus began a love affair for us both with this very special part of Surrey.

Entrance to The Secret Garden

Sculpture at Frensham Heights School

The Treehouse screening room

We spent the better part of two years living on-site, in a tiny flat attached to Roberts House, the co-ed boarding house for the Sixth Form (17-19 year olds). Life at Frensham had its moments; teenagers will be teenagers. But most days I woke not quite believing my luck in being able to live in such a beautiful place.

Frensham has just turned 90 and we were invited along to celebrate this very unique educational institution.

The rear of Main House, facing onto the lawn

Headmaster Andrew Fisher welcoming staff and students, past and present, to Frensham

The weather gods looked kindly upon Frensham and we enjoyed a beautiful autumn day. The formalities commenced with a welcome speech from Headmaster Andrew Fisher. His words echoed the thoughts and feelings of everyone there - that Frensham truly is a unique educational institution. The fact that over a thousand people RSVP'd to attend the 90th celebrations is proof that this place leaves its mark.

No school bells - students simply keep an eye on the time and move to their next class in blissful quiet. No school uniforms - Frensham welcomes individuality, and invites students to express themselves freely. No 'Sir' or 'Miss' - students are on a first-name basis with everybody, including the Headmaster. No academic prizes - at Frensham you're encouraged to be the best person you can be, and academic achievement, whilst applauded, is not placed above other qualities and successes.

Frensham Heights - uniformly free

The day's program included a number of talks by students and staff past and present, including by former student and now highly successful writer, director, producer and actor Hugo Blick. I was quite excited about this as I have seen a number of his TV productions and I remember being incredibly impressed by them. Hugo's talk ended with his heartfelt statement that the single most important thing from his time at Frensham was the realisation that he was not told what to think, he was encouraged to think for himself.

Sadly, though even back in the 1970s that philosophy was probably not widespread, it's certainly a rarity now. Happily Frensham is still true to its principles. 

Kevin with our hamper

Plenty of paella for everyone!

Memorial to our friend Lynne Elgy who sadly passed away suddenly last year

Picnic hampers added to the relaxed atmosphere of the day, but there were other options available to those who had elected not to pre-order a hamper.

It was great catching up with friends and wandering around the grounds of this place that holds a very special place in our hearts.

Sophie Ryder's wire sculpture that has graced the school entrance for many years

One of the staff cottages

Kevin outside the entrance to Main House

After the Frensham festivities we popped over to the gorgeous cottage of friends Wendy and Tim in the nearby village of Dockenfield, for a cup of coffee and a long chat. Then it was back to Frensham for dinner with other friends.

What a great day.

Yours truly on the main lawn

Until next time,
- Maree  xo

Revisiting my youth

Long ago and far away, there was a young girl from the suburbs of Sydney who just wanted to get away. Away from the suffocating sameness of suburban life, away from rev-head Westies, away from perpetual summer, away from Paul Hogan-esque Aussieness.

Late 1979 - first punk haircut, experimenting (badly) with colour

She dreamed of life in a cold climate, life in a place that wasn't so far away from everywhere else that it took 24 hours in a plane and a small fortune to reach Europe.


In about 1978 punk grabbed hold of me, and shook out the shy, conservative Catholic schoolgirl from Panania. Back then it took time for things to filter through to Australia, certainly to the south-western suburbs of Sydney. Thank god for Radio 2JJ ('Double J') and Countdown, both of which gave me a tiny, tantalising taste of What Was Out There, and what I was missing. 

For some time I kept this exciting, thrilling passion to myself. Teenagers really just want to fit it in, don't they? But this was too big to contain for long, so gradually I let my closest friends know of this new interest. They didn't really understand it, but I'd always been into music so I suppose it wasn't too big a stretch. They indulged me and in 1980 even went so far as to part with their hard-earned pocket money to attend a Boomtown Rats concert with me.

In bondage pants & Union Jack t-shirt, 1981

The music press was not cheap in those days, but somehow every week I managed to scrounge together enough moolah to purchase the NME (New Musical Express), already about two months old, having travelled by sea mail from London to reach our distant shores.

I'd read that paper from cover to cover, even the tiny, cheap classified ads from people talking a language I barely understood, so mired was it in localised slang and parochial cultural references. I marvelled at the hundreds of bands I'd never heard, and never heard of, wishing I was (a) older, and (b) living somewhere that offered more to a teenage girl who didn't quite fit her environment - I was never into the Sydney sun-and-beaches lifestyle.

Hurrah for my slightly older cousins too, in particular Kristina, who is a naturally gifted artist and seemed to have a more cosmopolitan circle in Cabramatta. With her I could discuss music without feeling like an alien from another planet. She and elder sister Marina took me to my first adult gig in 1980 (I was still under age, only 16) - and WHAT a first adult gig - The Ramones at The Sundowner Hotel in Punchbowl. Talk about giving me rock chick credibility for the rest of my life...

I was totally obsessed with getting to the UK, and spent long hours dreaming about the people I'd meet and the places I'd see. Most importantly, I pictured all the bands I'd see playing live. We did get a constant stream of British bands to Sydney and I saw as many of them as time and funds would allow. However England was the place to be. Even their bad stuff (eg Thatcher) was more interesting.

Yep.

One of my favourite bands was The Jam, who never made it to Australia before disbanding in 1982. They walked the line between punk and mod, and I adored them. Their songs captured all the youth angst of that period. Class war, Thatcherism, unemployment, skinheads. Paul Weller was angry, and so was I. It was only natural I'd embrace The Jam.

In Australia they were only moderately successful in commercial terms, and mainly towards the end of their career with songs like That's Entertainment (1981), Town Called Malice, and Beat Surrender (both 1982). However their brief five-year history gave the music world some of the best punk/new wave musical commentaries of the time - Down In the Tube Station at Midnight (1978), The Eton Rifles (1979) and Going Underground (1980).

The Jam split up in 1982, right at the peak of their success, a decision famously taken by lead singer and main songwriter Paul Weller with no real consultation with his band mates. In a tight little unit of three, that's some surprise. A lot of people were angry and confused by this, but in hindsight it really was the right decision. Leave 'em wanting more, that's what I say.

And so I was very excited when an exhibition of The Jam memorabilia was announced a couple of months ago, The Jam - About the Young Idea. Very conveniently, this exhibition is being held literally across the street from where I work in central London, in the gorgeous Somerset House.

The main courtyard, Somerset House 
- cocktail hour on a Friday, late summer

The closest I will ever get to a gig by The Jam:
stage set-up with original instruments and sound equipment, and a video of one of their last concerts being screened behind

It was really a lot of fun to wander around the exhibition, remembering things I didn't even realise I'd forgotten, and knowing everybody there - all about my age - had lived through that same exciting period. 

Is it nostalgia? To me, the political landscape was more interesting (Reagan, Thatcher, the Cold War), the clothes were dramatic and inventive, hairstyles edgy, and the music incredibly varied.

I remember buying this edition of the NME and reading with glee that The Jam had scooped the pool 
- see the next image:

Ah, badges. I owned dozens of these things.
No outfit was complete without at least three or four.

The thankless life of a Jam promoter in the USA

I did get to the UK several times for holidays (the first in 1986), but the universe conspired to keep me resident in Australia until 2008.

From those first thrilling stirrings as a teenager it only took me another 30 years to make the move, but here I am, living in England - and in fact only a short drive from Woking, from whence The Jam hail. Perhaps it's not quite as exciting for me as it would have been in the late 1970s but then again, the food is better now :-)

And don't worry - there's still a bit of that young punk inside.

In one of my many Jam t-shirts, with Mum and Dad at a family picnic (late 1980).
Note the Sony Walkman which was permanently affixed to my person for years.

Until next time,
- Maree  xo